Void
by She-Who-Dances-With-The-Stars
Summary: Damia is an normal 19yo, Australian medieval reenactor with a like of the strange, the medieval, and video games. But when she gets transported into the world of KotOR 1, it's a little bit too strange, even for her. Now she has to find a way back home, not get herself killed, and try not to tell everyone who Revan really is. Warning: Self insert.
1. Prologue

Right. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't work on my other stories because I have to be home to do that, and I'm spending maybe three four hours at home a day, awake. Other than that, I'm asleep, or I'm in town as my housemate works from 7:30am, and I don't have a license so I have to go in with him, and most nights I don't get back until 7pm. The earliest I can get home is 5pm, and the latest in 10pm, because of when I work. So, yeah. I don't have much time at home right now.

But I decided that rather than let everyone think that I'd died or given up on Different (I haven't, by the way), I'd write something that didn't require me to be home. And I've been reading a lot of self-insert SW:KotOR fics (and I tried a crack!fic before remember? ExistenceDenied adopted that one, though she hasn't updated in a while - hopefully it's just because she's busy like I am?) so I thought I'd give a more serious one a try, and in the style of CPunchMaster and Nyce (Check them out, they're good reads). As in, I go in not as Revan, but as myself and join up with them. So yeah. Only, I've gone a little bit different. I hope.

So, enjoy the story.

Notes on names: Damia is my real name. The names of everyone else is fake. I have no intention of telling you exactly who I am (though my name is a pretty good give-away - it's not exactly common) and I respect my friends privacy and right to keep their names secret.

Warning: Self!Insert

Disclaimer: George Lucas own Star Wars. BioWare designed KotOR 1. I own a toy lightsaber that lights up. It's green.

* * *

_Prologue  
_

_She was dreaming._

_The world around her was dark. A tightrope spanned across a vast ocean in front of her, farther than she could see without her glasses. She stood on a small metal platform, barely large enough to fit both of her feet on it, wearing nothing except a long t-shirt, underwear and a pair of socks - her standard pyjamas._

_On one side of the tightrope, the ocean tossed and turned, raging in the throes of a terrible storm. Dark red storm clouds hung heavily over the ocean, contrasting starkly with the purple lightning that flashed brilliantly eery few seconds. On the other, the water was calm. The storm disappeared suddenly overhead, revealing a clear night. The full moon reflected brilliantly on the water, glinting and shimmering on the gentle waters. The stars twinkled silently, unknown constellations visible from her perch high above the waters._

_"Is this the one?" A feminine voice sounded. A masculine hum answered the question, low and thoughtful, and she felt as though someone was inspecting her. She futilely tried to cover her bare legs in an attempt to hide her body from the voices._

_"She will do." The male voice finally admitted._

_"Do we take her now?" The female voice sounded delighted at the thought._

_"No." The male replied. "We shall wait for the signal."_

_"Wait!" She called out to the voices. At the sound of her voice the world froze, the storm stilling and the gentle ebb and flow of the moonlit waters disappearing. "Who are you? Why are you talking about taking me? Where are you going to take me? What signal are you talking about?"_

_There was silence after her questions, before the world suddenly started moving again. "Amazing..." The female voice breathed._

_The male cut off his counterpart. "Expected. We are not part of her, so we do not affect her. It is no surprise that our attempts to read her were noticed, when we cannot hide ourselves from her subconscious."_

_"We are alien to her." The woman finished for him._

_"Her mind will reject an unknown presence."_

_"Her body will reject an unknown Force."_

_"Her people are not a part of us."_

_"We know." The female sighed, and she had the feeling that they weren't speaking to her at all. That she was not supposed to be hearing any of their conversation. The voices' attention shifted back to her. "You are null to us. A void. But at the signal, you shall come."_

_"What signal?" She asked again._

_A sound rang out across the ocean, like metal hitting metal. The echoes of the sound died away as another, more obnoxious sound resounded across the oceans. The storm and the moonlight withdraw in surprise as the world around her wobbled._

_"Interesting. This is 'music' in your world." The female asked, curious._

_"We shall let you wake." The male cut in._

_"We shall see you soon!"_

_"Farewell, Damia."_

_She woke._

* * *

Damia woke suddenly, the obnoxious alarm tone her boyfriend had set ringing throughout the tent and encampment, waking everyone else up. Her boyfriend, Hamish, reached over with a groan and turned off his phone, his head collapsing back onto the pillow for a moment. Damia sat up, shivering in the early morning frost, before throwing the blankets over onto David and climbing to her feet.

Damia was an Australian medieval reenactor, nineteen years old, tall with curly, frizzy brown hair that glinted red in the sunlight that fell to the back of her thighs, which she normally wore in a thick plait. She pulled on a floor length green underdress and a matching lighter green surcoat, lacing up the sides with ease that spoke of practise, and shoved her feet into a pair of thick woolen socks and brown leather ankle boots. Pretty standard clothing for a female Freeman in medieval times.

Hamish rolled into his own clothes - a striped decollared rugby jersey and riding pants, ready to put on armour for fighter practise later that day - and followed her out of the tent, yawning a greeting to the rest of their group. They were currently set up to do a medieval display at the local Languages and Cultural Festival, something they did every year.

"Morning Damia." Edward greeted her, his large form lumbering past as he searched for coffee. She shot him a smile.

"Morning!" She chirped, before yawning herself.

"You're not allowed to be tired." Hamish muttered as he past. "You were asleep within five minutes, and kept me up half the night talking again."

"Sorry." She apologised. " What did I say?"

"How should I know?" He retorted, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You were off speaking in another language again."

"Eheh..." She chuckled apologetically as Matt and Eilish emerged from the blue and white Knights tent, dressed in their usual outfit. Matt wore a light blue kilt, while Eilish donned a white underdress and brown short sleeved overdress.

"I could hear that from my tent." Eilish stated, adjusting her glasses. Matt yawned and ignored the conversation in favour of food and coffee.

"Sorry." Damia apologised again. "When are Will and his crew arriving? And the guard?"

"Should be here around seven thirty, eight o'clock." Hamish told her. After breakfast, you'll have to help me into my armour, seeing as my Squire won't do it."

"Yes dear." Damia said, smiling to take any sting out of her words.

"So what were you dreaming about, Damia?" Eilish asked curiously. Damia shrugged.

"Something about a tightrope across an ocean, a weird storm on one side and a clear night the other, and two people talking about wanting to kidnap me." She explained. Matt looked up at her in confusion.

"Do you normally have those dreams?" He asked.

"No." Damia admitted. "Usually it's something random, like someone giving me a crap load of chocolate eggs, and me turning to Hamish and asking what we're going to do with them all. Of course, that time I spoke in English."

Edward snorted into his breakfast and shook his head. "Only you, Damia."

* * *

The morning passed relatively quickly. There weren't many people around, as it was a Sunday and still early and most of the people in the country city went to church. Damia spent the day embroidering a black rat rampant on a white background - the device of the groups second Knight - and talking with Katerina, another member of the group. Occasionally she put on a helm and grabbed her marshaling staff, and went into the fighter's erik to marshal a bout between Hamish, Will and Rat (though that wasn't his real name - he was their second Knight).

Other than that, and the occasional wander through the rest of the festival, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and the dream she'd had slipped from her mind. It wasn't until just after lunch, while she and Edward were both marshaling a fight between Will and Hamish, that anything unusual happened.

Will struck the blade of Hamish's sword, his own sliding down the blunt metal until it struck the brass quillion. The quillion snapped clean in half and Damia jumped in, staff at the ready as she called out 'Hold!" Her staff slid between the two fighters, and they froze before taking a step back from each other.

"Oh wow." Edward said, picking up the half that had flown in his direction. He handed it to Damia as she searched for the other half, squinting due to the lack of glasses.

"Yeah. Did you see wear the other one went?" She asked him. Hamish and Will looked around the erik, but couldn't see it either.

"Hey lady!" A voice called out. "Catch!"

She turned at the sound of the voice, and the other half of the quillion struck the sallet she was wearing with a resounding _tang_. She idly remembered her dream, as the signal the voices had spoken of sounded a little bit like that. The sound echoed in her ears and she bent to pick up the quillion and slipped it into one of the pouches hanging from her belt. She turned to Edward, who was standing beside her, as he shot her a grin.

"Good thing you were wearing a helm, eh?" He stated, knocking the helm with his own marshaling staff. The sound joined the one ringing in her ears, and her vision grew dim as the world swam before her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"No." Damia said thickly. _Yes._ The voices from last night contradicted her in her mind, and she focused on them even as the ground rushed up to meet her.

_Who are you?_

"Damia!"

_Unimportant to you. Come. It is time._

She knew no more.


	2. Chapter 1

I hate Taris, so I'm not going to do the entire thing. I'm just going to skip ahead to a certain point like Korriban...yeah. Not. I'll do Taris, don't worry.

This entire story will be in third person view, focusing on what I know and see. We won't be hearing Carth or Bastila or Revan's thoughts in it people, so take a wild guess. Mwahahah.

If you want a visual image for how my hair looks - think Merida for Pixar's _Brave_, only with dark bronze hair. I also _do_ actually know how to use a quarterstaff for combat, and am quite used to full skirts and floor length dress, and can both run, and if need be, fight in them. It's just a bit harder to use your feet, that's all. But don't worry, I won't be wearing it forever.

I'm not saying I'm stronger or a better fighter than Revan and Carth. But they underestimated me, and I used their own weaknesses against them (sorry guys). I won't be kicking their collectives arses any time soon.

If you are honestly curious enough to want to know what dress I'm wearing, it's here: armstreet store/ clothes/ medieval-linen-dress-surcoat-and-chaperone-costume-autumn-princess (remove the spaces and remember your dot com). Without the hat, in those colours.

This was really annoying to write, between internet stuffing up and me losing all my progress (God know how many times) and computers randomly shutting down...yeah.

It wasn't until after I'd named Revan that I realised what his first named could be - Trayan, Traya as in Kreia 'Darth Traya' of the Sith. A masculine version thereof. Aheh. That was completely accidental.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.

* * *

_Chapter one _

It was the harsh light and insistent beeps that woke Damia. As soon as she became conscious, she wished she hadn't so she didn't have to deal with the feeling that she'd been pulled apart and then shoved back together in a hurry. Her stomach was rebelling at her, and as something _whooshed_ nearby, she rolled onto her side and threw up.

"I suppose I should've given you a bucket earlier." A male voice said above her. Damia lay with her head hanging over the edge of the bed for a minute, breathing harshly as tears pricked at her eyes. She hated vomiting. A warm hand rubbed her back. "There, there. You're alright. At least you're awake now."

A glass of water was offered to her, and she took it gratefully, washing her mouth out and spitting it into the bucket that was placed beside her bed. She brushed a stray lock of curly hair out of her eyes and looked up at the kind face of a dark skinned man. "Who-Who are you?"

"My name is Zelka Forn. I am a doctor here in the Upper City." He stated. Damia squinted at him in confusion.

"Upper City? I didn't know we had an Upper City." She stated. Zelka stared at her in surprise.

"You are from the Lower City? I didn't think you were, due to your obviously rich dress. Well, no matter." He waved off the question and picked up a thick metal rectangle and stylus. "Now, can you tell me what you were doing before you were found unconscious in the alleyway behind my facility?"

"What? An alleyway?" Damia sat up and held her head in confusion. "That's not right. I was in the park, putting on a reenactment show. I'd been marshaling a fight between Hamish and Will, and a sword quillion broke. Someone threw half of it at me, and Edward tapped my helm with his staff. That's - That's all I remember."

"Hm." Zelka stared at her over the top of the metal block. "All right then. Mild memory loss, but nothing to worry about. You were unconscious for a day and a half, but had no physical or mental damage. My scans haven't told me anything - you're in good health according to them. Since you did not require kotlo or any kind of surgery, here's no charge this time. There's no legal or medical reason for me to keep you here, so I suppose I'll just have to let you go. I'll get Gurney to retrieve your things. Can I have a name for the file?"

"Damia." She told him, swinging her legs off the hard bed. "Just Damia."

"Alright. Have a nice day, Just Damia." He stated. Damia blinked and shook her head as she looked around herself in confusion. The room was dark and grey, the building she was in made from metal rather than wood or plaster, or even concrete. There were four of the hard, metal beds with thin mattresses in the room, and two doors led away from it. Zelka exited through the one furthest from her, and not long after another male came in. He was carrying Damia's belt, with all attachments still there, and her helm and coif in one hand, and the red tipped marshaling staff in the other.

"Your things, Just." He sneered at her as he handed them over.

"My name isn't Just, it's Damia. Day-mee-ya." She enunciated slowly, and he sneered at her again before walking away. She watched him go in confusion. _What a weird nurse - horrible bedside manner. And I thought they were supposed to wearing scrubs, not fantasy-medieval-ish tunics._

Damia wrapped her belt around herself and shoved her glasses on, grabbed the coif and helm and hung onto them as she followed Gurney from the room. The next room was obviously a reception of some sort, as Gurney had gone over to a table littered with various pieces of metal, and Zelka was fiddling with some sort of glass tank. The only other doorway out of here was wide open, and large enough to drive a car through, if not a truck. It led out onto a metal walkway. She was surprised not to see Hamish around anywhere, but figured he probably had to go back to work.

Zelka looked up as she passed but said nothing, merely smiling and waving goodbye. Gurney completely ignored her as she took her first step out of the 'medical' facility and into the bright sunlight. Her eyes shut for a moment as she was blinded by the harsh light, before adjusting. What she saw made her jaw drop.

Great metal walkways spanned the distance between towering ellipsoid buildings made entirely from metal. Lights flashed and shone everywhere she looked as vehicles flew overhead at breakneck speeds. The sounds of alien voices and near-silent doorways and elevators mixed with the _zoom_ of passing overhead vehicles and the _tonk_ of robots walking around and machinery working of various parts of the city. The smell of exhaust and fuel burned at her nose, with an underlying current of metal and something else she couldn't quite identify. People wearing tunics in the same style as Gurney and Zelka had walked here and there almost aimlessly around the walkways, stopping occasionally to chat with an acquaintance or ask for directions from one of the many robots scattered around the walkway. Marching throughout the throngs of people were tall soldiers in gleaming silver armour, with high-tech gun clasped firmly in their hands.

"W-What the? Where the Hell am I?" She screeched, garnering a few looks from passerby's. She grabbed a man who walked past her towards the facility she had just come from, and both he and his partner stopped to look at her. "Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me where on Earth am I?"

He looked at her with concerned brown eyes. "You're not on Earth, ma'am - wherever that is. You're on Taris, in the Upper City South."

Damia could only stare at the man, taking in his warm brown eyes and hair topping an dark orange jacket, and looked at his partner. He was Caucasian with shaggy brown hair, and seemed to looking at her with concern and something she didn't understand. "Oh." Was all she said as she realised just who's jacket she'd grabbed. Carth Onasi. And that meant the other man with him was the brainwashed Darth Revan. And they were on Taris. Looking for Bastila. Taris, which will later get blown up.

Oh indeed.

* * *

Damia stared around herself at the alien city in fascination. Everywhere she looked there was something new and bizarre, something she knew a lot of people back home would kill to see, let alone touch or talk to. The sky was slowly turning to a dusky rose due to the slowly setting sun and the smog that seemed synonymous with cities everywhere nowadays. The city was pretty, in it's own gleaming, silver metal kind of ways. She tilted her head back, keeping a hand on her helm so it didn't slip off - she hadn't done the chinstrap up yet - and stared in awe at the lines of vehicles rushing above everyone.

"Wow..." She muttered. She glanced over her shoulder at Carth and Revan - or whatever it was he went by now - and noticed that they had kept walking. Again. "Hey guys, wait up!"

She hiked up her skirts and jogging to catch up, huffing in surprise when the men actually stopped and turned to her.

"Why are you following us?" Carth demanded. Damia leant on her staff in mock thought.

"Oh, I wonder why? Maybe it's because I'm lost and alone and you guys are obviously the good guys, and I won't get mugged by some random if I hang around?" She retorted. Carth's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"And what makes you think we're the 'good guys'?" He asked lowly, dangerously. HIs hand hovered above the blaster attached to his belt. "Are you spying on us? Are you one of the Sith? Or a Dark Jedi?"

Revan hadn't been interested in Carth's questions, but at the mention of 'Dark Jedi' he dropped into a ready stance, his own hand hovering just above the sword at his hip. Damia took a step back in surprise and grasped her staff with both hands. "What? No!"

Revan suddenly lunged, swinging his sword up sharply as he drew it. Damia blocked the strike - a standard upwards slash - and kicked him in the family jewels. He went to his knees, eyes watering as she stepped around him. She was too close to both Carth and Revan for Carth to use his blaster pistol effectively in combat, so he swung a punch at her that she blocked with her staff. She hit him in the ribs with a resounding _thwack_, and followed up with a heavy strike to the temple with the other end, effectively knocking him out. Revan had managed to use his sword as support to get him up on one knee, but a strike to the temple knocked him out as well.

Damia scowled as she glared at the two unconscious males. "God damn it, you paranoid Sith-hating bastards."

The fight had gone mostly unnoticed by the people around them - tensions were high and offworlders fought due to the feelings of confinement. A few Sith had leveled their guns at the fight in case it got out of hand, but lowered them again once it had finished and resumed their patrol. Damia tucked her staff under an armpit and grabbed a foot of each man and started dragging them back the way they had come - towards Zelka's Medical Facility - cussing and cursing the men the entire way. She struggled to pull with what she swore was more than two hundred kilograms of dead weight all the way back through the streets, scowling at anyone who got in her way and praising the idea of smooth metal walkways.

Even if the guys would be a bit bruised from all the bumps where the pieces connected.

* * *

_She was back on the small platform high above the ocean, the tightrope stretching out forever. The storm raged stronger than before, and the moonlight seemed brighter than the last time she had been here. She took her first step out onto the thick rope, and a strong wind sprang up, buffeting her and pushing her towards the raging ocean. She windmilled her arms and barely managed to keep her balance. The tinkle of laughter reached her ears._

_"Oh? You don't want to fall in the ocean?" The female voice called out.  
_

_"I don't like the ocean." She stated, focusing on the rope as she took another step. Another wind sprung up, this time pushing her towards the calm waters, but she grimly kept her balance.  
_

_"The calm waters would keep you buoyant." The male voice assured her. She shook her head and took her third step.  
_

_"They have hidden dangers." She told them.  
_

_"So you will walk the tightrope forever?" The female queried.  
_

_"You can't. Eventually you will tire and fall." The male declared.  
_

_"Will you fall to the raging ocean with it's clear problems?"  
_

_"Or the deceptive calm with it's hidden dangers." A dark shape that looked vaguely like a dolphin with a serrated barbed tail leapt from the moonlit waters, and she shook her head again.  
_

_"Neither." She stated. The world was silent for a moment.  
_

_"Neither?" They asked in unison. She looked directly below the tightrope, where the water was unaffected by the storm and untouched by the moonlight.  
_

_"Neither." She affirmed, and jumped. She closed her eyes as the water rushed up to meet her, and the shock of the freezing water stole her breath away. She didn't try to swim upwards, to keep her head above water and regain her breath. Instead she sunk deep into the depths of the ocean, and let the dark water swallow her.  
_

_"A good choice." The voices spoke as one in her mind. "Bias helps none." _

Why am I here? _She asked the voices mentally. _

_"Good, you know where you are." The voices said. She realised she was no longer sinking, surrounded by water, but floating in darkness. She opened her eyes but couldn't see anything, not even herself, so shut them again. "Do not lie to them." _

Who? Carth and Revan? So what, I should just tell them that hey, I'm from Earth, you guys are a video game, none of this is real and it doesn't matter anyway. Thanks. _She bit out sarcastically. The sarcasm was lost on the voices though._

_"Do not lie to them." They told her again. _

Great. Anything else I should know? What's happening back home? Am I lying in the middle of a park somewhere, worrying the living daylights out of Hamish and the others?

_"It is alright. Time passes differently in these worlds, because we say it is so. When your role is complete, you shall appear in your world again at the precise moment you left it." They reassured her._

Gee, thanks. So I get home to literally hit the ground immediately.

_The voices didn't answer._

* * *

"Are you two actually going to listen to me now, or do we have another fight. Only after this one, I won't have to drag you ten bloody kilometres to the hospital!" Damia stated as soon as Carth groaned. In the bed beside him, Revan opened his eyes silently and blinked in confusion before sitting up. He glanced around and saw her sitting there and tensed, obviously prepared to defend himself in case she launched herself at him with her staff. "Oh please, you attacked me first last time. I'm not going to attack you now."

Carth sat up and rubbed his forehead, wincing when he pressed a little harshly on the spot she had whacked. The kolto had healed the bruising, but it was still tender. Damia had gleefully paid for the treatment with what little money they had, after digging through the pockets of Carth's jacket.

"Okay, sister. Look. We don't want any trouble." Carth started, holding his hand up placatingly. He spotted his jacket and pistol along with Revan's sword and pack sitting beside Damia on one of the beds opposite them, her staff resting calmly across her lap. "You've got us at a bit of a disadvantage here. I'm Carth. Carth Onasi."

Damia snorted. "I know who you are. Carth Onasi, decorated War Hero, soldier for the Republic, student of Saul Karath, lost a wife and son to Telos, loves his orange jacket and specialises in blaster pistols. I may be from a random backwater planet, but we're not blind." Carth tensed at her words, and Revan leapt to his feet in a loose combat form, only for Damia to wave them down. "Sit down. I'm not going to go to the Sith and tell them who you are, and get your memories wiped or you guys tortured or anything. Who the sword-swinging idiot who attacks first, asks question later?"

She jerked her thumb at Revan, and he drew himself up furiously, obviously taking offence to her description of him. Carth sighed and cut him off. "Stand down, Soldier. She's right - we're the good guys. Questions first, swords later." He rebuked him. Revan scowled and crossed his arms, glaring at the green-clad girl hotly. "This is Tayran Rhett, a Republic soldier under my command. Who are you?"

"Damia. I'm not telling you my last name, so don't ask." She started. Carth scowled and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not part of the Republic or the Sith."

"What? How is that possible?" Revan - rather, Trayan as he's called now - cut in. "You have to be either Sith or Republic!"

"No. You don't." She stated slowly. "My planet is not part of your galaxy, so I don't have your Republic or Sith back home."

"Then where are you from?" Carth asked, suspiciously. Damia sighed, frustrated at how obtuse they were being and not just letting her follow along on their adventure until she could go home.

"Look, here's the deal, okay? I'm from a planet called...Terra, more specifically a country called Australia, which is part of what we call the United Nations - kind of like your Republic. I'm not from this part of space, and I don't really care about your whole kerfuffle civil-war-thing. I just want to get home to Hamish, continue doing my thing, have some cute babies, and grow old and die. Savvy?" She ranted at them.

"Hamish?" Carth leapt upon the name. He focused on the gold ring she wore on the middle finger of her left hand and made a melancholy face. "You're married?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go with that." She said. "I do not want to be here, I want to get home. So here's what I propose - we team up for now, we get off this planet, you dump me on whatever planet you want and continue off on whatever you're doing, and I find my way home. Savvy?"

"Savvy? Uh, yeah. Alright I suppose. But I want you to swear on pain of death that you will not go to the Sith and betray us." Carth demanded. Damia eyed him and sighed.

"Alright. Body, mind and soul." She solemnly laid her hand over her heart. Carth and Trayan stared at her in confusion and she rolled her eyes. "It's a thing I - we do back home."

"Right." Carth allowed. "As long as you stick to it. I'll be watching you, Damia."

"You do that." Damia stated, and threw his jacket and pistol to him, doing the same with Trayan's sword and pack. "Where to first, Captain?"

"Right. Um...we were on our way to the cantina to see if we can find a way into the Lower City." He said as he shrugged his jacket on. "Come on Soldier, Civilian - are you a civilian? You don't fight like one."

Damia thought. "Well, no. I guess not. You could say my rank was..." She glanced down at the staff in her hand, the red tips standing out against the dark wood and grey room, "well, was Marshal. I guess. I marshaled fights back home to make sure no one got seriously hurt. If I said stop, you stopped, and if you disobeyed i hit you with my staff. It's kind of my badge of office, I guess."

"How far up the rank was that?" He asked. "It's usually associated with small space fighters in our army, so I can't really compare it with yours."

"Uh...well, in terms of combat my word is law. But in the social system I'm only a Freeman, which is pretty low..." She explained. He looked at her in confusion, and she sighed. "Just put me around the rank of a new recruit, with a few extra perks when it comes to combat training."

"Alright then." He allowed. "Ensign, Marshal, let's move out."

As he led the way out of the medical centre, Damia hid her relief at the - tentative - belief they had given her. _Thank God for Drama class and Debating._


End file.
